


love (out of lust)

by thelostrocketeer



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Biting, Drunk Sex, M/M, PWP, The plot was an accident, Well - Freeform, handjobs, hobbledehoys, not my best attempt, one handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostrocketeer/pseuds/thelostrocketeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy comes knocking. Thomas opens the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love (out of lust)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by snsk  
> I apologise in advance.

 

 

"Rather die in your arms, than die lonesome  
Rather die hard, than die hollow"

_Love Out of Lust, Lykke Li_

**x**

 

It’s the knocking that wakes Thomas up. It’s quiet but insistent and incredibly annoying. He checks his watch and cusses at his visitor because it’s three in the morning and he has to be up at five if he’s going to be able to finally snitch that bottle of wine he’s been meaning to for the past week.

He curses under his breath as he walks to the door and opens it to the spectacle of wild, curly blonde hair and cheekbones to murder for.

“Jimmy,” he says. “What the buggerin' hell are you doing up, it’s three in the mornin'.”

Jimmy smiles, wide and bright like the Cheshire cat and leans onto the doorframe.

“Tho – mas,” he slurs, pitching forward ever so slightly. “Good morning, then.”

Thomas frowns and takes a step back. Jimmy smells of cheap alcohol and cigarettes, and Thomas is taken aback because he didn’t know Jimmy smoked. His clothes are crumpled and there is what looks like a large love bite on his collarbone where his shirt is unbuttoned.

“Jimmy, are you drunk?” asks Thomas, frowning.

Jimmy smiles at him and laughs, leaning ever forward, the drink on his breath becoming ever more obvious to Thomas.

“How’d you guess?” he drawls, hiccupping on his first word; teeth flashing and blue eyes wide.

“Well, for starters, you smell like a bar,” says Thomas deciding to hold his ground.

Jimmy smiles and glances at Thomas through his long eyelashes before looking lingeringly at Thomas’ mouth. He bites his bottom lip and suddenly Thomas is a psychic.

“God, you’re pretty without all that grease in your hair,” sighs Jimmy, leering at Thomas.

“Jimmy, are you sure?” he asks, doing his best Carson Eyebrow impression.

The blonde bites his lip again and runs his hand through his hair, seemingly having second thoughts -- but then he’s leaning forward and clutching the front of Thomas’ night shirt and kissing him, drunk and sloppy and full of want.

He’s pushing Thomas back and shutting the door behind him and for a moment Thomas is impressed that he would remember to do that but then his train of thought is derailed as the shorter man leads them both toward his bed and suddenly the back of his knees meet with the soft edge of his mattress and he falls backward.

Jimmy doesn’t miss a beat as he straddles Thomas’ lap and mouths at his neck, tongue warm and moist and so very hot and Thomas feels it go all the way down into his cock; and he should stop this, he really should -- but Jimmy’s mouth really was made for sin and if anyone is a sinner it’s definitely Thomas so he just moans and throws his head back, inviting Jimmy to taste and take and claim as much as he wants.

Jimmy tastes like whiskey when he finally licks his way into Thomas’ mouth, eager and pliant and soft and _so_ very drunk as he nips at Thomas’ bottom lip and tongue. His hands are warm on Thomas’ neck and on the small of his back and Thomas feels like a cat the way he’s arching into every touch. His skin is burning where Jimmy touches him and he wants more of it, more than ever.

He lets himself wander, his hands on the broad chest of the younger man, rubbing his hands into the cotton of his shirt and wonders whether he’s going to regret this later, because it's doubtless that Jimmy will.

“Thomas,” pants Jimmy into the crook of Thomas’ neck as he nips at the sensitive skin below his jaw. “Thomas, you’ve got too many clothes on,” he moans, pawing at Thomas’ shirt, trying to pull it off.

Thomas pulls away and Jimmy grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off, almost expertly and Thomas bites his lip at the thought of Jimmy’s past, at the idea of all the girls and perhaps the boys that he’s done this with.

Once again his thoughts fly off the line when Jimmy turns his attention to his stomach and licks a broad stripe from his navel all the way to his left ear before pulling away, and all Thomas can think of is how filthy this is and how beautiful Jimmy is, looking at him in reverence as he pulls off his braces and unbuttons his own shirt, fingers deft but shaking as he reveals more porcelain skin, and Thomas realises he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, the little _minx -_ \- and there's a light dusting of blonde hair spread between in between his nipples.

And Thomas has to _touch_ , has to _taste_ , has to give in to his greed and feel the expanse of skin with his fingers and his mouth, so he does. He leans forward to kiss Jimmy’s sternum, right over his heart and he lets his fingers trail down his sides; milk and honey and fine bone china because that’s what the boy is made of, really. His breath grows steadily more erratic and he arches his back into Thomas’ mouth and Thomas can feel him growing hard against his stomach, feels his own problem aching for attention as well.

Thomas gives in to the moment and pushes Jimmy onto the bed and the bastard _giggles_ like a schoolboy, and it’s so dastardly and young and Thomas kisses his laughter away, licks his mouth right into the bedframe and shuts him up good, makes him _moan_ instead as he strokes Jimmy’s chest, favours his right nipple into a hard pebble. He finds the mark on Jimmy’s collarbone, the mark of someone else and bites down into the purple, leaving it red and raw –- his own mark onto the pale white skin.

Jimmy moans his name like a five cent whore and bucks his hips up into the curve of Thomas’ pelvis, now just wanton with _need_ and _lust_. Thomas makes quick work of Jimmy’s trousers, deft fingers unbuttoning the buttons and yanking them down quickly, pausing only to fondle the bulge in Jimmy’s pants before pulling those down too, releasing his erect cock before quickly pulling down his own sleeping trousers.

The night air is cold but it’s quickly allayed, because Jimmy’s hands are quickly on his cock, warm and rough and large, tugging fast and almost gently and Thomas can’t do anything but moan and buck into the touch and bury his face into the crook of the younger man’s neck as Jimmy works to rub them both together. The friction is almost painfully good, though they are slick with pre-come, whether Jimmy’s or his own, Thomas can’t tell; because he can only squeeze his eyes close and thrust as Jimmy continues to hold them together –-

And soon, too soon, Thomas feels like he’s on the brink of the world; on the edge of a volcano like the ones they have in Hawaii and he leans down and kisses Jimmy, full and open and sloppy and he responds in the like- free arm propping him up as he licks the inside of Thomas’ teeth and moans openly into his mouth. Thomas feels all the blood leave his head as grenades explode behind his eyes and he comes panting and yelling Jimmy’s name like a mantra. He feels all his limbs lock and his back arch and distantly he thinks he should probably keep it down but then Jimmy is yelling, too; his name, like it’s a cry for help and Thomas can feel him coming, adding to the sweat and the mess that’s already between them -–

And it’s beautiful, Jimmy’s face when Thomas looks. His eyes are closed, squeezed tight; his eyebrows knitted together in concentration; his mouth a perfect “O” of ecstasy; but what gets Thomas is the way he can’t let go of Thomas, one hand scratching marks into his stomach, one leg clamped around his waist –-

But before long, like everything else in Thomas’ life, it’s over.

Thomas can’t hold himself up anymore so pushes off the bed to lean against the wall, his legs getting tangled with Jimmy’s, their trousers and Jimmy’s pants making it hard to move. Jimmy lies, panting, a smile plastered onto his face like he doesn’t know how to get rid of it; eyes closed and delirious.

“God, Thomas,” he slurs. “D’you reckon anyone heard that?”

Thomas leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

“Is this what you do, then?” he asks when he’s finally breathing like he didn’t just run a marathon. “Tell people you want to be friends and then call on them in the early morning for a quick shag every now and again?”

Jimmy scowls at that and props himself up on his elbows.

“That’s not fair,” he says, frowning.

“Well it’s true, innit?” snaps Thomas.

“No, it’s not,” says Jimmy, suddenly sober and biting.

“Then what the bloody hell was that then?”

Jimmy looks away, red faced.

“I -- I don’t know,” he confesses.

Thomas feels disgusting, the gunk and bodily fluids on his stomach slowly drying. He feels used, and he sneers at Jimmy as he gets up and pulls his trousers back up.

“Well. If you’re all done with this, please leave.” Thomas can hear the sting in his words he walks to the night stand and looks out his window at the moonlit grounds of the Abbey.

“Wait, no, Thomas,” says Jimmy, pleading. He stands to Thomas’ side and tries to caress Thomas’ face, but he turns away.

“Please, Thomas,” Jimmy begs now, and it’s roles reversed, the night from two years ago and Thomas pushes Jimmy away.

“I don’t want to hear it, James,” snaps Thomas, face drawn into a scowl; nostrils flared and eyebrows knitting together.

Jimmy’s face crumples and he picks up his shirt and leaves.

**x**

 

The next month is one of Thomas doing everything in his power to avoid Jimmy, from spending much of his time ordering around the hall boys to faking illness so Mrs Hughes takes pity on him and sends his dinner up.

The next month is one of Thomas actually wishing for the days when it was just him and William and none of this was any bother and James Kent had never stepped foot into Downton Abbey.

The next month is one of Thomas accidentally fluffing his duties and being told off by Mr Carson and having to hold his tongue in stony silence because he has no reasonable excuse for his lack of sleep that wouldn’t make him cringe in horror or call him foul again.

The next month is one of Thomas being unable to sleep and spending the early morning hours feeling disgusting as he wanks himself raw to the thought of blonde hair and a chiselled jaw and that goddamned schoolboy _giggle_  that haunts him as he sobs and comes into the folds of his bed linens.

The next month is the most miserable month of his life and Thomas can only hope Jimmy is having it twice as bad.

**x**

“All right, that’s _it_ ,” declares Mr Carson one day as Thomas is spinning on his heel because Jimmy and Alfred are playing cards on the dining table and Thomas is still doing his best Big Foot impression.

“James, Thomas, come with me.”

Thomas stops dead in his tracks, glares at Mr Carson from the corner of his eye and Alfred protests, saying that they’re not done with their game, but Jimmy frowns at him to shut him up and gets up slowly to trudge behind Mr Carson. He marches them to a roomy broom cupboard and closes the door behind him.

“If this is about the spoons, I swear-“

“No, James this is not about the spoons,” cuts Mr Carson.

“Then what about is it, Mr Carson?” asks Thomas, trying his very best to sound bored, trying to mask the way his heart is hammering because this is the first time since that night that he’s been in the same room as Jimmy and he’s still very much not over it, thank you very much.

“Thomas, James, I don’t know what’s going on and I’m very sure I do not want to know, but for the past month this… whatever it is has been affecting your service, and I am not pleased!” rants Mr Carson, his face turning the bright pink of one of Countess Grantham’s underskirts that time Thomas had seen it when O’Brien had been bringing down her dirty laundry.

“James, you’ve either gone deaf or you are deliberately choosing to serve his Lordship and his family improperly which had better not be the case, because I would not expect that of you, to be acting like a daft little hobbledehoy!”

Mr Carson’s voice is stern and Jimmy ducks his head and mutters something under his breath. Mr Carson arches his eyebrows at him; a cross old headmaster with his maligned misbehaving student, effectively shutting him up.

“And you, Mr Barrow,” continues the butler. “What is going on with you? Waking up late and missing dinner and picking on the hall boys like a bully in primary school! Of all people Thomas I’d have thought you’d know better than to mistreat the people under you!”

And this makes Thomas stiffen, because Mr Carson is right, he does know what it’s like to be picked on and bullied and he feels his ears heat up as well and he drops his gaze a little.

“I’m -- I’m sor --“

“And what’s this between the both of you?" cuts Mr Carson.

"It’s like you cannot stand to be in the same room for longer than five minutes! I don’t know what is going on but it is making the staff dinners very inconvenient! If this is about what happened two years ago, I thought it had all been settled! You were getting along so well, and suddenly you’re both at it again? I cannot accept this. The both of you will stay here and work out all your issues and you will both be performing at optimum level after, or you will have forced my hand and I will have to talk to his Lordship. Do I make myself clear?” finishes Mr Carson sternly, his face now red as a bottle of wine.

Thomas looks at Jimmy in the corner of his eye and catches the young man looking at him.

“Yes, Mr Carson,” he says, straightening up, a true professional.

“Yes, Mr Carson,” echoes Jimmy, voice devoid of emotion.

“Very well. The next time I see you two I expect you to be working at your very best,” say the butler, turning and vacating the area.

Jimmy is quiet like a sullen teenager who’d gotten caught stealing. Thomas crosses his arms and leans against a wall and looks at him proper for the first time in a month. He looks thinner, like he has been skipping meals and his eyes have purple bruises under them. Thomas would be smug if he didn’t know that he looked exactly the same, the lack of proper meals and sleep getting to him.

“Well --” he says the same time Jimmy looks up at him and says “Thomas --”

“Sorry,” murmurs Jimmy, eyes still downcast.

“No, you go first,” says Thomas, not really wanting to say anything to the footman at all.

“Oh. Uh,” mumbles the man, biting his lip.

Thomas considers sneaking a smoke but knows the telling off Carson will give him later, so he just counts to twenty and thinks of the steps to the Grizzly Bear while waiting for Jimmy to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually.

“Oh, you are now?”

“Yes, I am. I really am,” he adds.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I was just -- I was drunk.”

Thomas scoffs. “Oh, really, you were? I _really_ couldn’ tell,” the bite in his voice obvious to even himself, a bitter laugh on his lips.

“Thomas,” tries Jimmy again, softly now; his voice rounder, warmer.

“God, Jimmy,” Thomas says, feeling the tears starting to prickle in his eyes and he looks up, willing them away.

“Thomas, I’m sorry…” Jimmy sighs, his haughty face crumpled and weary. “I just- I just thought you still felt the same way.”

And those are the words that crumple Thomas’ façade, and he looks away, counts the wood grain on the broomstick hanging a few feet from his face. He wonders if his heartbeat is really that loud or if Jimmy is holding his breath, because it’s all he can hear, the rhythm erratic and painful against his ribs.

“Funny thing is I did, Jimmy,” says Thomas, when his eyes stop threatening to spill over. Looking back at the blonde haired man, he hears himself speak.

“I still -- I still do,” he hears himself say, shakily; weary.

And Jimmy is back in his space, the way Thomas was in his those two years ago, closing in and invading, skin of alabaster sallow up close.

“Do you really?” he whispers, looking up at the taller man through his eyelashes.

“Because,” he says, voice low. “Because I think I’ve fallen for you, Thomas.”

“I think I’m in love with you, and I think -- I want -- I _want_ you so much,” he whispers.

Jimmy’s words hang like the dust off a spare bed when the maids beat the sheets.

“And you thought the best way to tell me this – was to get nice and drunk and then come and then tussle wit’ me in bed?” he finally manages, looking the younger man in the eye.

And Jimmy reddens, embarrassed and suddenly bashful. He looks down and seems suddenly very interested in his shoes.

“I -- I didn’t know how to say it properly… after all the things you’ve done for me. I never meant to hurt you.”

And Thomas can’t breathe, because there’s no air in the broom cupboard and because Jimmy is so close and radiating warmth and guilt and pain –

So he kisses the man. He leans forward and closes the space between them, tilts Jimmy’s face upwards and finds the space where his lips were made to be. He marvels at the way they slot together like a child’s jigsaw puzzle, two pieces meant to be side by side. And he tastes tears, his own and Jimmy’s mingled together; salt and water and sadness and happiness and three years of confusion mixed together.

He feels Jimmy mouth the words against his, an apology and a soliloquy of all the words they can never say aloud, _sorry_ and _I love you_ and _never leave me_ pressed into the chapped skin of his lips, sealed there by pain and joy –-

But most of all he feels the way Jimmy’s heart beats against his own, real and quick and _changed._

He feels it and he smiles.

 

**x**

**Author's Note:**

> So I've just finished watching season three. And at first I really wasn't into this ship, but then that Christmas special, I still can't even.  
> And also I watched Love Bite, while it was the worst move I've ever seen, Ed Speleers was naked and doing sexy things -- and. Yep.


End file.
